Prologue

A man's figure stood alone with two children, all clothed in black robes as they look down—hands clasped—at the small plot of land before them where a coffin had just been laid. A beloved wife and mother who was taken long before her time lay within. The man's blue-eyed gaze fixed upon the freshly dug dirt unblinkingly. No tears stung his eyes for they were hard-set with anger, but the crying, shivering little girl beside him gripped tightly his hand. Even the red-faced boy clung to his father. His head rested against his father's side as his arm was around the boy's shoulders, gloved hand rested on the young boy's shoulder.

The harsh winter wind blew their black robes and stung their faces, which were already numb from the frigid weather. The gray skies, howling wind, and eerie rattling of barren trees only seemed to match the moods of those beneath it. The burial had ended a half hour ago. People had given their condolences. A good friend had even tried to offer to give them someplace to stay for the holidays if home was too painful. The man had rejected this offer. He didn't know where to go, but he wasn't going to disrupt the Turner family's Christmas together with his own unhappiness. His mum and dad would take them in for a few days, but he wouldn't even dare stay there long. He didn't want to be a burden anymore, and that was what he felt like now with as heavy a one as he himself carried.

How could this have happened? How was it that he had let it happen? He'd failed her after promising never to let that man hurt her again eight years ago. If he had only left the other bastard to rot, he could have made it before the assassin killed her. He could have saved her again. He wanted so badly to do it all over, to find some way to save her, but he had two children now. He couldn't waste away to figure out how to bring her back or keep it from happening despite the overwhelming pain that seized his heart and made moving seem so difficult.

"Let's go, da." The sound of his son's quiet voice was barely heard over the harsh winter wind that stung against his face, but he heard it nevertheless. He simply didn't feel that he could answer right now. He didn't want to leave yet. If he did, he'd be leaving behind him a part of his heart. If he left, the reality of this all would set in, and he would be powerless to do anything but accept what had happened. But, that was just it. He couldn't accept it.

"Daddy?" His little girl was trying to get his attention now, tugging at his hand as her big, hazel eyes that reminded him so much of his late wife fixated upon his emotionless face. "Daddy?" she whimpered, voice quieter, and he felt his son move his hand off his shoulder and walk over to his sister. And soon, even the girl's hand left his as the older boy called her to the side, telling her to wait by that tree and not move. The girl simply remained there as her brother walked over to their father.

"Da, we need to go." No answer. It was almost as though he wasn't even there, the way he was simply staring unblinkingly at the grave plot. "Da, Lydia's tired. Let's go." And for a moment, the boy thought his father was going to ignore him again, but after a few moments longer his father had turned to him and was looking at him. The boy thought he was going to break down and felt almost sorry to have even spoken to him. He'd known his dad had not been well before and that this was taking him to the limit, and seeing him like this, he pitied him.

"Not now, Jules," the father told him quietly in a voice only just loud enough to hear over the gentle howl of the wind. To the boy, it appeared he was trying to give him a smile, but if he was, he was failing immensely, his vibrant blue eyes lacking the joy he'd once seen them hold many months ago. "You take your sister to the building over there, ok? Ask to use their fireplace and go to your gran's. She'll take care of you. Tell her I needed some time alone with…with—"

The man needn't say more, as the children were soon walking off together. His glossy eyes squinted to watch them walk towards the building 'til they were close to it before he turned back to his departed wife's grave, kneeling down on the ground despite the fact that it would wet his clothes and make him freeze. Nothing of that sort mattered. It hadn't for months but especially not now, especially not with the sheer agony he felt inside.

"I'm so sorry." His voice was barely more than a whisper as he spoke, his eyes finally brimming with unspent tears. He'd held it all in the few days before this funeral. Details like this were so wrongly memorized early on in life for he and his wife. They had always tried to prepare for this, but nothing could have sufficiently done so. How could anyone truly be ready for something so overwhelming as losing his life's partner? She'd been his world, his everything. And now—now, she was gone. "I should have been there. I should have stopped him."

TBC...